


Invisible Scars

by Rose_of_Pollux



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 10:32:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18737263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: In which the bad memories from Napoleon’s time in the Korean War return with a vengeance.  Thankfully, Illya is here this time.





	Invisible Scars

Illya always noticed how affected Napoleon seemed to be whenever they ended up in Korea on missions. He knew it was because of Napoleon having the misfortune of being drafted into the army out of high school, and then contracting appendicitis during his time in Korea. It was the one time his “Solo Luck” had failed him—or had it, seeing as though that chain of events had led to Mark Slate meeting him and nudging him towards U.N.C.L.E.?

Nevertheless, Napoleon still did not look fondly on his time in Korea—not that Illya could blame him. Napoleon tried never to let it show, but his mask would inevitably slip at times; usually, this manifested itself into moments of deep thought, where Napoleon would absently stare out at nothing, his mind far away. Illya wouldn’t bring it up for fear of making him recall the unpleasant memories with further clarity.

Still, even without Illya trying to say anything, the memories inevitably would find their way back to him. After days of Napoleon’s nerves slowly reaching the breaking point on the mission, one night, as he attempted to sleep, a rather strong thunderstorm broke out in the skies over the safehouse they were staying at.

Illya had crossed to the window, watching as the bolts of lightning illuminated everything—the sky, the grass, the walls of the safehouse, Illya’s yellow hair…

He was jolted from his thoughts when, after one particularly loud crack of thunder, he heard Napoleon suddenly scramble from the bed where he’d been sleeping only moments before—

“Take cover! Quickly!” he said, running over and seizing Illya’s arm.

Illya blinked in surprise, and then Napoleon stared for a moment as he realized he was talking to Illya, and that the Korean War was years behind him.

“…Oh,” Napoleon sighed, going slightly red with embarrassment. “We’ve already taken cover. That’s good.”

“Napoleon…” Illya began.

“Sorry I…” He trailed off. “Well… Sorry for disturbing you.”

“You did not disturb me, Napoleon,” Illya insisted, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. “I was already awake.”

Another crack of thunder boomed, and Napoleon winced slightly.

“You had an unpleasant dream, I take it?” Illya asked. He gave a look of sympathy as Napoleon nodded. “Do you wish to discuss it?”

“There isn’t really much to discuss,” Napoleon said, looking through the window. “…I’m clearly just not cut out for war.”

“You were eighteen years old—unwillingly conscripted,” Illya reminded him. “Of course you were not cut out for war.”

“But nothing has changed,” Napoleon sighed. “I’m still not cut out for it. One bad dream mixed with one thunderstorm, and I’m that scared kid again.”

“No one that age should be exposed to the horrors of combat,” Illya insisted.

“You were even younger during the Battle of Kiev.”

“The statement still stands. We both learned the horrors of war firsthand, far too young,” Illya said. “As a result, we both feel a certain desperation in preventing a terrible war from breaking out again. Tell me, Napoleon—is that anything to be ashamed about?”

“…When you put it that way, no,” Napoleon admitted. He gazed out the window again, staring blankly at the storm for a moment before speaking again. “…I don’t think I’ll be getting back to sleep anytime soon.”

“You are welcome to sit here with me,” Illya offered.

Napoleon took him up on it, drawing a chair beside the one his partner had set up.

“And I shall ask again,” Illya continued. “Do you wish to discuss anything?”

Napoleon normally didn’t want to discuss his memories of the war with anyone—but Illya was different. Not only was his partner someone he trusted more than anyone, but Illya also had the unique—and unfortunate—experience of knowing exactly how he must be feeling.

And that’s when it dawned on him—

“Do you?” he asked back.

“… _Da,_ ” Illya replied, after a pause. “Perhaps we can both obtain some relief by discussing these with each other.”

And Napoleon responded with a nod, and the two of them began to talk, the burden of their souls lightening with every word shared between them.


End file.
